by N. P. Martin
Brentwood stared at me. "So it would seem. What the hell is going on with Lawson, Creed? Why does she want to leave Division? She wouldn't tell me anything except that she's signing up for the fucking Feds."
"Has she handed in her resignation yet?" I asked.
"Not yet. Later today she said." Brentwood shook his head. "I'm about to lose my best agent, Creed. I'm not happy about it."
I knew how he felt. "I tried to change her mind. At this point, she isn't hearing it. She wants out."
"She should never have hooked up with you, Creed."
Anger rose in me. "Fuck you, Brentwood."
The whole room looked as I raised my voice and Brentwood raised his hand slightly as if to say everything was fine. Which it wasn't. The motherfucker was implying I'd corrupted Leona, led her astray. If he wasn't half right, I might have punched him out. "It's nothing personal, Creed. I just mean relationships make the job harder."
"Says the married man."
"Divorced actually."
I frowned in surprise. "When did that happen?"
"A while ago." It was clear he didn't want to talk about it.
I nodded. "Can't you force her to stay?"
"Lawson? No, how can I?"
"You could if you wanted to. We both know that."
Brentwood shook his head. "We'll discuss this another time. I brought you here to talk about SciCane."
I was happy to drop the subject as well. "Any leads yet?"
"Yes, actually," Brentwood said. "Over here."
He led me over to where the computer guys were, all still in their seats tapping away furiously "What are they all doing?" I asked.
"Trying to hack SciCane," the young woman who'd been throwing me looks said, pausing what she was doing to hold my gaze this time. She was pretty in an unconventional way. Her hair was short and dark with a reddish tint to it, and she had large green eyes that seemed to take in everything. A fierce intelligence was at play behind those eyes, and I could almost see calculations going on inside her head as she continued to stare at me, almost like she was trying to figure me out as if I was some binary driven machine. I couldn't help wondering if she suffered from autism of some kind due to her peculiar detachment. Her smile was tight, almost forced. "I'm Bethany."
"Bethany is our lead analyst," Brentwood said.
"I'm Creed," I told her.
"I know," she said, then turned to stare at the screen in front of her again.
I glanced at Brentwood as if to ask what Bethany's deal was, and he raised his eyebrows slightly as if to say that's just who she is. "Tell Creed about the forum," he said to Bethany.
"Forum?" I said, leaning down to look at the screen, and as I did, Bethany pulled away from me somewhat sharply.
"I don't like to be crowded," she said looking down.
I pulled back. "Sorry."
Bethany just nodded and resumed tapping the keyboard at a speed that made her fingers blur. Keeping my distance now, I did my best to look at what was on the screen, which seemed to be displaying a message board, though I couldn't read the text on it. "This is the website where SciCane posts all their information," Bethany explained. "They post everything from complete spell instructions to the ingredients of some very dangerous substances."
"Dangerous?"
"Explosive in some cases, mind altering in others."
"Drugs and bombs. Typical."
"They have instructions there on how to open portals to other dimensions, for Christ's sake," Brentwood said. "I wouldn't trust half the people in this city to open their own front doors never mind a door to another dimension."
I couldn't help but snort at Brentwood's blatant lack of trust. Not that I could blame him for it. With such dangerous information available to anyone who could find the forum on the dark web, trouble had to be just around the corner, and possibly on a grand scale if enough people started experimenting.
"The admins of the site go out of their way to encourage users to act on the information they provide," Bethany said. "There are numerous long posts here that outline the group's anarchist philosophy. They seem to think they are waking people up so they can start a revolution."
"Setting them up more like," I said, and for some reason, Bethany smiled at that. "If this keeps up, SciCane will get what they want soon enough. Society will just collapse."
Brentwood shook his head as if I had just underlined the potential for disaster. "This is why we need to stop this group and take the whole thing down."
"Can't you shut down the website?" I asked.
Bethany sighed sharply. "No."
"We've been trying," Brentwood said.
"I can't break their encryption," said Bethany, clearly annoyed that something was beyond her obviously considerable skill set. "In fact, I've never seen anything like it. And I mean never. It's like they have their own technology that no one else has."
"They probably do," I said. "They have the Dark Codex after all. They can create anything they want."
"Tell him what you want," Brentwood said to Bethany.
Bethany nodded and glanced around at me. "Although the group operates in secret apart from their public disclosure of information, I did come across a few posts by the main admins, stating that they are willing to allow anyone into the group as long as the person could prove their worth."
"Prove their worth?" I shook my head. "How?"
"You have to be able to demonstrate your abilities. If the group leaders think you have valuable skills that would benefit the group, you get taken in."
"Ok. How does this happen? I assume you can't just contact them."
"No," Bethany said. "You have to post a video on the site here. If your video impresses, the admins will contact you directly."
"Has anyone posted a video?" I asked, curious to know.
"Dozens of people have. I've watched them all."
"And?"
"And most of them are nut jobs. Amateur magicians, hedge witches with very little skill, pseudo-scientists performing weird experiments. Only two people stood out to me."
"Who?" I asked, expecting her to bring the videos up, which she did. In the first video, there was a guy in a baseball cap who was sitting in a darkened room in front of a glowing computer screen while he inputted lines of code onto the screen.
"This is like no code I've seen before," Bethany said.
"That's because our friend here is a technomancer," I said. "He's mixing normal code with magick. It's an art."
"I wouldn't call what happens next art," Bethany said.
I continued watching the screen as the video then cut to Main Street in Camden Town. The technomancer filmed with his phone as money suddenly started spewing from every ATM in the street. Needless to say, people went crazy and started fighting each other to get to the hundreds of bills blowing around the street and through the air. Pretty soon, it was a total riot. The cops came. People were beaten down with sticks, handcuffed and arrested. A moment later, the video finished. "Nice skills," I said.
"Yeah," Brentwood said. "For creating chaos in a busy street. People were hurt. One person was killed after being trampled on."
"What's the next video?" I asked Bethany.
"It's a long one with lots of deranged commentary from the man and woman involved, so I'll spare you the agony of having to listen to it. This crazy couple walks into a corporate seminar full of suited execs--not far from here actually--and turn every last suit into a cow."
"A cow?" I couldn't help smiling.
"Fifty-six cows to be exact."
I shook my head. "Well that's--"
"Fucked up?" Brentwood said.
"I was going to say cool, but fucked up will do."
Brentwood gave me a look. "I'm glad you think fifty-six people being turned into cows is a cool thing, Creed. Those people will live the rest of their lives in a fucking field. They had family, loved ones."
"Yeah, I know," I said raising my hands to calm him. "I was just saying..."
&
nbsp; "Saying what?" Brentwood demanded, glaring at me.
I shook my head. "Nothing. Forget it."
"Jesus, Creed. You're as fucking bad as they are."
"Laughing is not the same as doing."
Brentwood shook his head and threw me a sharp look as if I'd uttered a line of philosophical garbage. "Whatever, Creed. The point here is that the video auditions are your way into the group. Post a video that's sure to impress and get a meeting with these fucks so we can find out who they are, and then take them down before they do any more damage."
"You want me to make one of those videos?" I asked, slightly appalled by the idea of such blatant showboating on camera. "Doing what?"
"You're the sorcerer, Creed. I'm sure you'll think of something."
"A sorcerer," Bethany said staring at me. "I never thought I'd meet a real sorcerer. I played D&D for years, and I was always a witch or a sorcerer."
Brentwood shook his head at Bethany. "Ignore Bethany's starry eyes. She hasn't been here all that long."
"It was nice meeting you, Bethany," I said smiling at her, genuinely liking her. She was down to earth and didn't have a stick up her ass like everyone else in Division.
"Yeah," Bethany said before turning back to her screen.
Brentwood walked me back to the doors as the war pigs at the table threw me looks which I ignored. "Do what you have to do to get into that group," Brentwood said. "I don't care what you do as long as you get a meeting."
"I can do anything?" I asked.
Brentwood sighed. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I trust your judgment, Creed. I trust you'll keep the damage to a minimum whatever you do."
"I'll try my best."
2
Taking The Strain
In some ways, it felt like business as usual when I left Division HQ. I had a case to work on, and I could go back to doing what I do. The only thing missing from that normality was Leona. She would be in Washington DC by now, preparing to join the FBI. I had no doubt she would make a good agent, but I also knew it wasn't what she was meant to do. Like it or not, the supernatural existed, and there could be no running away from it once you became involved. Leona would realize that in time. Maybe she would come back to Blackham then. Back to me.
I sighed and shook my head as I drove out of the grounds of Homeland Security, nodding to the guard who had let me in earlier, who nodded back with a look that said he still didn't know what to make of me.
Fuck it, I thought. I have a case now. A big one. Let's just focus on that and let fate sort out the rest.
"What will be will be, Creed," I told myself out loud as I turned on the radio to a classic rock station in time to hear Judas Priest's "Heading Out To The Highway" which I started singing along to just as the sun broke through the clouds again and filled the gloomy interior of the Lincoln with soothing light.
"I'm heading out to the highway," I sang like someone happy with not a care in the world. "I've got nothing to lose at all, gonna do it my way, take a chance before I fall...a chance before I fallllllllllll...."
I wouldn't say I had a great singing voice. The old pipes were far from angelic sounding. More crow-like if I'm honest, but I didn't care. Just singing was enough to lift my mood and bolster my resolve to get on with things. I turned the volume up on the song as I headed towards nearby Main Street, ignoring the looks I was getting from expensive suited pedestrians as I sang at the top of my voice with the window down.
"Making a curve or taking the strain...On the decline, or out on the wain...Oh everybody breaks down sooner or later....We'll put it to rights, we'll square up and mend...Back on your feet to take the next bend...You weather every storm that's coming atcha!"
When I stopped at a red light, I started banging my hands furiously on the steering wheel as the music continued to play, the sound of screaming guitars and my strangled vocals as I sang the last chorus attracting much attention from passersby and the cars parked beside me, including the disapproving eyes of a woman in the next lane as she stared across from inside her BMW. As the song finished, I banged out the last few beats on the steering wheel and turned to look at the woman who sat next to me. "Fuck yeah!" I shouted as I gave her the finger.
The woman in the BMW visibly flinched at my actions and quickly turned away, causing me to burst into laughter. I don't normally go around offending random strangers, but it felt good to do so right then, even if it also felt like I was slightly losing my shit. But hey, nothing new there, right?
I drove into Main Street and then pulled up outside a shop that sold phones. As I had destroyed my last smart phone, all I had on me was a burner phone I had lying around, which as far as phones went, didn't really cut the mustard. That's the thing about upgrading to a smartphone. Once you do, you can't go back to anything else. A bit like magick really. Every upgrade in power and ability became the new norm, and the thought of downgrading in any way felt like anathema.
In the shop, I paid a ridiculous amount of money for the latest iPhone and walked out of there feeling like a tech junky who'd just got his fix. It shames me to say that I actually felt better about myself knowing I had the latest iPhone in my pocket.
I didn't go straight back to the car afterward. Instead, I walked up the street until I found a cafe where I could sit outside in the still bright sunshine while I drank a large cappuccino. Given that I was in the Highlands, I got a lot of looks from people because of my appearance. This was Yuppie Town (do people still use the word yuppie?), and when you looked like a scruffy git in a dark green trench coat that had seen better days, you tended to attract a lot of attention from the clean cut brigade whose territory I was on.
I ignored the looks, however, and I sat in relative contentment drinking my coffee while watching the world go by around me. My eyebrows raised at a bus that drove by, mainly because there was a huge poster image on the side with the face of none other than Angela Crow, smiling like butter wouldn't melt. In giant letters beside her undoubtedly captivating face was the words: ANGELA CROW FOR MAYOR...BECAUSE YOU DESERVE BETTER.
Laughter erupted from me. "Jesus Christ," I said shaking my head. I had to give it to the Crimson Crow. She had balls. Huge fucking balls. If only her prospective voters knew about the sharp fangs concealed behind that charming smile of hers. I couldn't believe she was actually running for mayor of this town. She already ran the place behind the scenes. What was the was the point in her going public as well?
Who cares? I thought as the bus disappeared around a corner. My interest in politicians in general and Angela Crow, in particular, ran about as deep as my interest in collecting dried mounds of shit and glazing them for display in my home. They were all just self-serving bloodsuckers as far as I was concerned. Besides, it was my fault the Crow was able to run for Mayor at all. I gave her the power to daywalk after all.
I had a more pressing matter at hand anyway. What was I going to do to impress the SciCane leadership so I could get a meeting with them? Whatever I did, it had to be more than a parlor trick, but not as far as irrevocably turning people into cows, or causing a riot in the middle of town. I had no wish to hurt anyone just to gain entry into the group, even though Brentwood had implied it would be okay by him if I did cause a few casualties. Brentwood might have been fine with collateral damage, but I wasn't.
At the same time, it could be hard to predict how these things went, especially when magick was a big part of the equation. I decided further research into the group was called for, which meant going back to the Sanctum and reading through the SciCane website. And if I was going to infiltrate the group, I had to see what sort of psychology drove it if I was going to make myself a good fit for it.
Leaving the cafe, I walked back to the Lincoln. The second I got inside, my new phone rang in my pocket. Frowning as I pulled the phone out, I wondered how the hell anyone would have my number since I just bought the damn phone, but then I remembered that I kept my old number to save any hassle. I didn't recognize the number flashing up
on the gleaming new screen. "Hello?" I said upon answering.
"Hello, Creed." It was a gruff male voice, and it took me a moment to recognize it.
"Big Joe. I don't remember giving you my number."
"You're not the only one who knows how to find people," Big Joe said.
"Well, you got me. What is it?"
"What is it? My cousin, remember? The one who was hexed? You said you would help him."
I shook my head, having forgotten about that. "Now's not really a good time--"
"Don't," Big Joe said. "Don't you fucking try and get out of this. We had a deal, Creed. I give you the flash drive in return for you helping my cousin."
"I have a more important matter to take care of," I said, knowing full well the werewolf wasn't going to take no for an answer.
"No, you don't, Creed. My cousin's house collapsed on top of him yesterday. This thing is getting worse."
"So lock him up in a rubber room or something."
"And then what? Just fucking leave him there until you can get to him? Fuck you, Creed. You do as you promised or I'll bring a world of hurt down on your head. You have no idea of the pain I could cause you."
"Your pack tried that the last time we met," I said. "It didn't go so well if I remember right."
A low growling noise issued from the phone. "You do this," Big Joe growled. "Or you're a dead a man, Creed. It's your choice."
Sighing, I shook my head. The last thing I wanted to do was try and unhex a werewolf who fully deserved to be hexed in the first place. Big Joe's cousin was a woman beater after all. So what if the hex killed him? It would be no great loss to the world. But, I didn't need the hassle of being hunted by a pack of werewolves either. My full focus had to be on getting into SciCane and taking it down. "Christ, alright," I said gripping the steering wheel tight with my free hand. "But you should know, undoing a hex like the one your cousin is under is difficult and not without its risks. He mightn't be the same man afterward."
